Patrick Rosal

Above the boulevards of sweat where the kids     are gathering again at the back     of a public bus to plan     the resurrection     of laughter an old woman    on a bench    slides both pink shoes     off her feet at the beginning of spring so she can sit    a while longer and look   at

              for my great uncles Mamerto, Nicasio, Prudenci Llanes who were hanged by the U.S. military for their armed resistance against the American occupation of the Philippines Who am I?               I slide my body          Into your body                         all my weight yours          I even place the gnawed peach pits of my ankles into

I don’t know how I feel about so many masters painting me that stupid blue and calm as if I were not all salt          fish shit and whale scum Doldrums Lunar collaborations Tradewinds and crosscurrents     In your language when you say titanic    colossal       to grasp my vastness so do you measure my